A Sonata for the Moon
by syntic
Summary: Finding Fugue unconscious just outside the path to Tenuto, Frederic sees to it that his ex-enemy recovers. The swordsman's heart learns to hope again, and a promise is made. FugueFrederic.


Disclaimer: Eternal Sonata/Trusty Bell: Chopin's Dream is © by Bandai, Namco, and Tri-Crescendo. I obviously didn't come up with the game, nor had any part in the creation of it, but I at least own this fanfiction.

Side note: I apologize in advance for using the name, "Chopin(-san)" through half of this story. I played the game in the Japanese voices, so it felt weird calling Chopin, "Frederic"... Please bear with me.

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**A Sonata for the Moon**

"I knew you were delusional, but this- _this_!" The young man pointed to the occupied bed. "You're a freakin' lunatic, are you trying to kill us, _again_?!"

"A-Allegretto!" cried Polka, clutching onto the silver haired boy's arm in a passive attempt to stop him.

The deep blue-gray haired adult paused upon hearing the accusation before replying in a steady, even voice, "His injuries are serious enough that he cannot do any harm to of us."

"He's unconscious, Allegretto…" Polka attempted.

"He's dangerous!" The young man turned to face the blond girl, his face set into a deep frown. "He tried to kill you, three times, might I add!"

"He didn't try to kill me…" She replied, albeit slightly hesitant.

"He tried to capture you, ugh, same thing!" said Allegretto, exasperated. "Anyways," he turned to face the older man once more, "I don't want him here! You're potentially putting everyone here in Tenuto in danger."

"Chopin-san…" Polka looked over to the thirty-nine year old man with sympathy, her bright olive-colored eyes dimmed, showing that she wanted to side with him, but not under the current circumstances. Allegretto did bring up a valid point, the man was only unconscious now, but what would happen when he awoke?

Frederic smiled with gentle understanding at her un-vocalized feelings and tipped his head forward in an awkward bow.

"I will take my leave with him then," said Frederic, turning away from the pair of teens. "Thank you for letting me use the first aid kit, I'm sure it will last him long enough until we reach the next village or city."

With his fragile looking exterior that seem to overshadow his slim build, Polka wondered how the middle-aged man carried the body, which probably weighed the same amount as himself, all the way to Tenuto; not to mention having to fight creatures and wild animals along the way. Just yesterday, Polka recalled seeing a couple of scratches on the man upon opening the front door, but Frederic was insistent on aiding his more seriously wounded "guest".

Polka rushed to Frederic's side, offering him a hand when she had noticed that he was having trouble lifting the body onto his back. Allegretto made a grumbling sound of annoyance before coming to their aid as well, tying support cloths around Frederic's body to keep him from losing grip and dropping the human mass.

Polka's mother appeared beside the doorway just as Frederic was leaving.

"What's this?" She asked, surprised.

"Ah, milady," Frederic turned to her, adjusting the body behind him. "Please excuse my intrusion upon your home. I wish to thank you for lending the bed and cloths. It's sudden, but I will be taking my leave now."

"But your friend has not recovered." She said stepping away from the door as Frederic made his way out into the kitchen-living room. "Must you leave at this hour? The sun is setting soon and the wild animals are fiercer during these full-moon nights."

Surprisingly, Frederic chuckled at this statement and smiled sincerely at the middle-aged woman.

"Unfortunately," Frederic gave the briefest glance behind the woman to the two teenagers stepping out into the room to see him off. "Under the current circumstances… It would be best to leave with great haste. The creatures and animals will not hinder my travel and neither will my friend here." Frederic turned his head slightly to indicate the man on his back.

"Are you sure?" asked Solfege. The look on her face was settling into a grim expression and she had a feeling that if the man had any other choice, he would stay just one more night.

Frederic gave her a practiced smile and although he met her eyes as he spoke, he was looking beyond the woman in front of him, "Yes…"

"I see…" She said, a tad dejected at his answer and moved to open a cupboard in the kitchen. The older woman returned to Frederic's side with a small brown bag.

"Please, take these with you. They're floral powder and they should last you until you reach your destination. Polka, if you will…" Solfege said as she handed the bag to her daughter.

After tying the bag closely to Frederic's side, Polka moved to open the door for him.

"Thank you again, Polka." Frederic said as he stepped out into the warm evening air.

The blond girl flushed with a sense of guilt, having to turn a dear friend out into the coming night.

"Chopin-san… I…" Polka began, but finished lamely with a "Please be careful."

The composer would surely frown at her for apologizing. And as much as Polka wanted to pin the blame on Allegretto, she knew the boy was right. Allegretto's instincts were as precise as any war veterans', and if he worried, the whole group should be worrying as well. It was no one's fault that her friend had to be turned away.

Frederic gave a gentle nod at her and graced a smile to the ones standing beside her. Turning around, the man moved down the worn path and out of the village while the sun blazed many streams of florescent hues above him, as if guiding the traveler into the awaiting night.

After many minutes of watching the darkness swallow the entrance of the forest—Polka's mother had stepped back into the house a few minutes before to begin dinner—a firm but tender squeeze on her shoulder brought Polka from her melancholy trance to look up at her beloved companion.

Allegretto's face held an expression of determination as he stared at the darkening skies, but when Polka searched his eyes, she found herself surprised at the solemn glimmer just barely controlling a hurricane of guilt. Polka's whole body relaxed at this and she smiled knowingly at the teenage boy, turning fully to him to give a reassuring hug. And Allegretto, without reluctance, gratefully accepted it.

-----

It had taken a good two hours to make it through Tenuto Path and another three hours to pass through Agogo Forest. By the time Frederic reached Agogo Village the full moon shone brightly in the midnight sky, and the stars, busy basking in the moon's luminescent glow, hid themselves within the large amount of cold reflected light.

Frederic nearly stumbled as he limped his way uphill towards the little village. The composer did not once complain as he adjusted the body on his back for the umpteenth time, only giving a sigh of relief when he made it to the front door of the guardians of Agogo Forest. Suddenly, the thought of rudely waking the two young guardians dawned on the man and his fist, held in mid-air, dropped unceremoniously back to its original position of providing support for the body on his back. It took many minutes of contemplation, and although he was tired, and quite possibly injured (his body was too numb for him to know where the pain was coming from) due to many encounters with wild creatures, Frederic Francois Chopin turned away from the door.

There were no inns in the little village and Frederic contemplated about making camp in Chorus Plains. If they were lucky, the Angel Goats would not attack their camp by eating it.

Just as the composer was about to step away from the door, it flew open and a soft warmth of light painted Frederic's side, just barely outlining his lumpy shadow.

"Chopin-san?" A soft, tired voice questioned.

The composer turned around and a flood of relief fell through him.

"March." Breathed Frederic tiredly, giving her a small smile.

The lavender-haired elf opened the door wider, and cutely rubbed the sleep away from her eyes to peer at her visitor.

"Oh! You're bleeding!" she gasped. "Please come in out of the night!" And the girl quickly stepped away from the door to let the tall man in.

After closing the door behind her, March turned around to face Frederic, only to be greeted by the sight of another man tied to the composer's back.

"Chopin-san..?" March asked, tilting her head in confusion as she padded softly to the said man. "Why-"

"I will explain everything after I've set him down." replied Frederic distractedly. He was untying the cloths around him slowly and the limbs of the sleeping man on his back slumped dangerously to the ground; even for Frederic, it was difficult to balance the weight of another person while making the movements as subtle as possible. Seeing Frederic struggle snapped March from her momentary confusion and prompted her to quickly help him with his task.

Soon, after tucking the unconscious man into a guest bed, March approached the pianist sitting at her living room table with a first aid kit. And with unusual swiftness in her tender demeanor, Frederic found himself attacked by many disinfectant wipes, stitches and bandages. When Frederic finally emerged from March's medical treatment, he found that his torso, right leg, and left arm were heavily bandaged.

"Left arm, a small gash; left torso, extremely bruised, but luckily no fracture or broken ribs; the leg…" she paused, getting up to store the medical kit away. "Sixteen stitches…" March had to wonder if her friend was mauled by a wild boar of some sort. The gash on the man's leg was jagged, but it wasn't deep enough to tear the muscles, and March figured that Frederic had jumped out of the way in time to save his limb.

Frederic chuckled softly at the girl's mature attitude, not at all phased by the seriousness of his injuries.

"Thank you." He said to her when she came back to sit at the table.

"You're welcome anytime." She replied, matching his charming smile with an adorable one.

"How did you know I was at your door?" Frederic questioned, tiredness creeping into his voice.

March noticed the dark bags under the man's eyes, but just as any true gentleman would do, he was making an effort at a conversation and was stubbornly refusing rest in favor of giving company to the host. March rewarded her friend's chivalry with an answer:

"The agogos woke me up. Their voices led me to think that something might have happened again."

"Odd," said Frederic, pondering at her response, "You said before that it was rare for the agogos to help humans and I'm quite sure that besides Polka, being a special case, the agogos have never taken a liking to people."

March nodded in confirmation at his statement. "That is true. Agogos are shy creatures and their ancestry is written within many ancient books. And over thousands of years, the agogos have learned well of human nature and, sadly, human desire and ambition. As a result, they choose to live away from humans, but because human nature is born within every person, like the four elements born from the Earth, the agogos do not hate humans, rather, they choose to communicate with us elves, and we pass their messages to your kind."

Frederic looked unfulfilled at the girl's explanation and continued, "But then, there is no benefit for the agogos in helping us. I can understand that saving Polka was an absolute necessity, especially because it concerned the whole world falling into chaos, but had they not come to our aid at that time, mankind would cease to exist; a selfish species that would fall into complete annihilation. Would such a prospect be not more favorable for the agogos? We, after all, destroy their homes to build ours, and take from them greedily."

March hadn't realized that their conversation would take on such a serious tone, and she couldn't keep the shock of the composer's words from silencing her.

To think, that this man, her dear friend, could propose such a convincing and raw view of human nature scared her. Scared her, not because of the things he said, nor the possibility of truth behind the ideas, but scared her because he had said it so effortlessly. It was as if he had said it without acknowledging that he was human too, and yet the serious glimmer in his dark brown eyes said otherwise. He knew what he was saying, and he accepted –no, _welcomed_ the thought of death. These solemn thoughts brought March's eyes down to her hands which were resting on her lap.

Noticing the tense atmosphere in the room, Frederic's tired eyes widened with sudden realization, and he shifted his weight on his chair awkwardly. March was still too young and Frederic was sure that she had misunderstood his words. It wasn't that Frederic welcomed the thought of death, but rather, the thought that death was a natural cycle in life; he had accepted it a long time ago…

"Ah- no, I'm sorry for wording it like that…" said Frederic, embarrassed at his own blunt mannerism. "What I mean is: had Polka and I never been saved by the agogos, human kind would have most likely perished under their own mistakes… Although it might be considered a sad and terrible thing, it might also be a wonderful and happy occurrence for the agogos and other living creatures."

March visibly relaxed at Frederic's odd sense of optimism and looked up at the composer. She attempted an understanding smile at the man, but her insides churned with the knowing feeling that Frederic's previous words held an underlining meaning of his truest beliefs.

"Well then," said Frederic with a fair amount of finality; trying to switch to a different topic, "Where's your sister? I am sure Salsa must be infuriated with me having woken the two of you up this late." At this, Frederic chuckled lightly, brightening the mood with his sincere laugh.

Tactfully suppressing the disheartening churn within her stomach, March let out a giggle at the thought of her sister making a scene, but shook her head and replied, "Salsa's staying over at Viola's house and will be back tomorrow morning. Ever since Count Waltz's defeat, she and Viola have been spending a lot of time together, especially now that we know she lives so close to us."

"What a pleasant surprise." Frederic said with a nostalgic expression. "When the two first met each other, I had a hard time thinking that they'd be able to become such good friends. But I'm glad to have doubted myself on such a thought. What about you March, did you not want to stay over at Viola's as well?"

"Oh, I've already stayed over two weeks ago. Salsa and I take turns to visit Viola."

"I see. I really would have wanted to visit Viola and Arco again but…" The musician's eyes ghosted over to the bedroom where the other man laid. "I'm afraid that the visit will have to be delayed until another time."

At this comment March perked up, remembering but forgetting to ask about her friend's sudden visit and the man currently unconscious in her house, but having watched her friend droop his eyes down tiredly throughout their conversation, thought better of it.

"Chopin-san, it would be best if you've gotten some sleep. We can think about this tomorrow, you must be tired."

"Yes, you're right…" Frederic smiled gratefully, getting up and removing himself from the table.

"Feel free to use any of the beds in the guest room." March said, watching as the man used his baton for support, making his way out of the living room.

Frederic paused in front of the curtain that separated the guest room from the living room to turn around slightly, facing his friend.

"Thank you for everything, March. Goodnight." Frederic said, bowing to her.

"Chopin-san," March called, finding a rather random and sudden impulse to make a final attempt to ease the melancholy depths built up within her adored friend. "Hope. --Hope in human nature is the agogos' reason."

The young girl's statement caught Frederic off guard, so much that the man seemed to freeze on the spot for a few seconds. Regaining himself, Frederic gave his dear friend a heartwarming smile, before turning around again and making his way to the guest room.

'_Someday_,' the lavender-haired guardian thought, watching with glazed eyes at the spot where the composer was last standing. '_There will be something for you to hope in as well, Chopin-san._'

-----

There was a burst through the front door and a fiery haired girl hopped into the house, slamming the door behind her loudly.

"March, I'm hoooome!"

"Ah, welcome home sister!" came the voice of her younger twin from somewhere in the back of the house.

Salsa made her way around the living room, dropping her sleeping bag on the table and picking up a loaf of bread from a basket. She had breakfast with Viola, but fighting the Angel Goats along the way home had made her hungry again.

"You wouldn't believe it! Viola and her goats almost got attacked by these bandits, see," she paused to bite into the bread, chewing as she spoke, "an I totari saw dem try ta steal da ghots, buh me an Biola surprised dem an ou shuld hab seen it!"

"Mmhm, that's nice…" March's distracted voice trailed lightly to her twin.

Salsa swallowed and continued, now using her sister's response to guide her to March's location.

"And Arco," Salsa laughed, now pulling open the closed curtain to enter the guest room. "He jumped at one of the guy's face and- WHOA!"

Salsa's half-eaten bread fell to the ground, and the young guardian unsheathed her weapons from her side and positioned herself in a fighting stance.

"What the heck is he doing here?!" cried Salsa, using one hand to point at the man her sister was calmly tending to.

"Sister, please be a bit more quiet…" said March, moving to take away a basin of bloody water. "The neighbors might hear you. And please put away your weapons, he's not going to hurt us."

"You don't know that March, he's our enemy! Quick, let's throw him outta here before he wakes up!" Salsa had put her weapons away, but was not relaxing.

"Ah… Something like that would certainly be a problem for me..." said a voice from behind the redhead.

Startled by the sudden voice, Salsa swung her body around.

"Frederic!" Salsa's frown brightened into a happy grin upon seeing the man, but it quickly shifted into a confused pout. "What are you doing here, and why not?"

Frederic smiled at the questioning twin and ruffled the top of her head affectionately as he limped passed her to sit in a chair set up beside the bed.

"He is under my care until he has recovered. I don't think that throwing him out will allow him to recover any sooner –thank you March." The pianist nodded to the younger twin as she made her way out into the living room.

"B-but, he's a bad person! He hurt you and Polka; wasn't he one of Count Waltz's henchmen, he'll want revenge when he wakes up."

"We don't know if he truly is a bad person Salsa, sometimes things like that are not up to us to decide." Frederic said, sitting up straight, trying not to put pressure on his bruised torso. "He was heavily injured when I found him just outside of Tenuto, if he didn't receive medical attention immediately he would have died."

"This man," March explained, walking back into the room to stand beside her sister. "Was saved by not only Chopin-san, but also by the agogos."

"The agogos did what?!" burst Salsa in astonishment.

"Last night, the agogos woke me to help Chopin-san, and with him, was this man. Sister, you and I both know that the agogos do not help humans unless it is serious." March explained.

"Yeah, and Frederic's injuries look pretty serious to me. So the agogos helped Frederic, it doesn't mean they helped _that_ guy."

"That's not true, sister…" March said, looking slightly disappointed with her twin's lack of logical thought on the subject. "The agogos -no, or should I say, the Agogo Queen Mother, saved this swordsman."

"Okay, now I _know_ you're joking; there is no way that the Agogo Queen Mother saved this guy. We saw first hand that she, umm… ate him, or something."

"Sister, he was saved _because_ the Agogo Queen Mother 'ate' him. He received heavy wounds from fighting us and probably wouldn't have made it back to Forte City. The Agogo Queen Mother consumed him for a short period in order to prolong his life."

"But Polka absorbed the Agogo Queen Mother into _her_ body, there's no way he could have gotten out." Salsa reasoned.

"That also may have been the case, but he was brought back after Polka used her Astra to return peace to our world. Therefore, if peace were to return to our world and this man along with it, means that he is certainly not as bad as he may seem."

Salsa stared at her sister in disbelief, her jaw hanging down to emphasize her skepticism.

Salsa attempted a different argument: "He was bullying the Agogo Queen Mother! You even saw it; he stomped on her and kicked her!"

March grimaced at the unpleasant memory and cast her eyes towards the silver-haired man on the bed.

"I was skeptical at first as well, but there really isn't any other explanation for the Agogo Queen Mother to save him. Although we know that the Agogo Queen Mother did not glow around him, she still reflects the light—the Astra—within the hearts of people. Although we witnessed the darkness within his Astra, you and I both probably reversed these evil thoughts by calming the Agogo Queen Mother…" here, March paused to Salsa's sudden scoff at her own doing, "…And it could be that, perhaps, this man's heart changed along with it."

Salsa took a minute to let her twin's argument sink in. The possibility of the idea seemed naught, but it happened, else the swordsman would not be in front of her right now. Salsa put both of her hands on top of her tresses and rubbed at it with vicious frustration, growling with reluctance at the idea. If what March was telling her was true—and it usually was, one-hundred percent of the time—then Salsa would be going against the doings of the Agogo Queen Mother, which under many generations of heritage as an Agogo guardian, would be unforgivable.

"Okay, okay! I get it! He can stay here for now, but if he tries anything funny when he wakes up, I'm kicking his butt; injured or not!" Salsa declared, landing both of her hands on her hips.

"And I'll be kicking his butt twice as hard, brat." A spunky voice chipped in.

All three occupants of the room turned their heads to the young woman who stepped into the room.

"Viola!" Salsa cried in delighted surprise.

"Yo," Viola greeted, "Sorry for letting myself in, but you forgot this when we were fighting the bandits yesterday." And pulled from her side Salsa's pirate hat plopping it gracelessly on the young girl's head.

"Hehe! I thought I lost it for sure, it never feels right without this thing." Salsa said, adjusting her hat happily.

"Oh, Viola, what a pleasant surprise, please sit, I'll go make some tea." March said cheerfully, turning around to exit, but Viola stopped her.

"No need, March, we'll be moving out of here soon enough." Viola said, stepping closer to the bed where the unconscious man laid, eyeing Frederic closely.

Frederic looked up at the twenty-six year old woman, his eyes narrowing as his cheeks rose to show off his trademark smile. Viola quirked an eyebrow at this and shook her head disapprovingly. He won't fool her, not with wounds like those. The wounds looked awful; he was probably feeling the pain worse now that he had a bit of time to rest. Viola sighed inwardly, irritated by the composer's attempts at masking his physical pains.

"You're coming with me too, piano-boy." Viola declared, standing straight and shifting her weight onto one leg.

Frederic's eyes widened a fraction, his smile morphing into one of a delicate pout, which only seemed to have lasted a brief second.

"I… I'm not leaving you alone with a guy like him; you're in worse shape than he is." Viola simply clarified, albeit a tad deferred by Frederic's odd childlike expression.

It wasn't that Frederic never made an expression like that; he had done so a few times before during the course of the group's journey. Rather, it was the fact that every time he had done it, it seemed more like an expression a child would give had he/she been lost in conversation. Perhaps, it was a look that nearly mirrored Beat's innocence that Viola's maternal instincts always took the better of her, and sometimes she wished that Frederic was thirty years younger than he currently was, so she could adopt him as a younger brother.

"I couldn't possibly trouble you like this Viola." Frederic attempted pathetically, realizing that Viola probably had an inkling of his situation.

A woman's intuition was truly a frightening thing.

"Trouble? Not at all! I live in a decently sized cottage by myself, there's more than enough room for three adults. And compared to the typhoon here," Viola threw a thumbs-up behind her, indicating Salsa who stood watching the conversation with an annoyed look on her face, "You're a warm spring breeze."

Salsa made a retort at Viola's comment and Frederic chuckled at this, looking down at the sleeping swordsman. Frederic's body ached terribly and if this man, Waltz's henchman, were to attack him when he was not fully recovered; he would never forgive himself for putting the two young guardians in danger. After all, they were still in a village, also posing a danger to the lives of innocent civilians. Therefore, if he were to stay with Viola, then protection and safe distance can be better guaranteed. March and Salsa would also be able to commute to and fro quickly if the need ever arise.

"…Then, we are in your care." Frederic accepted graciously.

Viola clearly pleased with Frederic's decision, shrugged playfully and replied, "Hey, that's what friends are for."

-----

The sun's warm rays annoyed the hell out of him, but at the same time, it was… different. Almost relaxing even. When was the last time he had the sunlight wake him up? –Probably never until this moment.

He shifted, trying to move away from the light but failing to do so when a sharp pain coursed through his body causing him to gasp in surprise and fist his hands in the sheets.

'_Sheets, am I in a bed?_'

At this thought, he paused, body tensing further only to cause him more pain.

"I would not move if I were you."

Fugue snapped his eyes open and turned his head to face the source of the voice.

Frederic was slowly limping towards him, a steaming bowl of what appeared to be mushroom soup, a small bowl of salad, and a loaf of bread set on a tray, was in his hands.

Fugue almost snarled at his bad luck.

'_The first thing I see when I wake up just happens to be my enemy; just great…_'

Setting the tray on a night stand, Frederic sat in a chair that had already been set up beside Fugue's bed.

"It's a miracle to see you awake. We were thinking that you'd never wake up again…" Frederic said while folding his hands in his lap.

"Heh, and what's it to you even if I didn't? --Taking me in as a hostage; you should have let me die." Fugue replied, sneering.

Frederic blinked. "If you were truly a hostage, I would not think that you'd be sleeping in a comfortable bed, nor would we have gone through the trouble of healing your wounds. We would've sent you off to be locked up within Baroque's underground prison where you'll never see the sunlight. I will inform you now that Baroque's prison is unlike Forte's; they are very well trained and equipped."

The man was blunt, almost chillingly so, and Fugue had half the mind to wonder if the dark-haired man before him was not the seemingly-kind hearted enemy that he despised so much, while the other half of his mind told him to shut up and lay bed-ridden for however long necessary until he was well enough to fight his way out of this… this-

_'Where am I anyways?'_

"Chorus Plains," Frederic answered as if reading the swordsman's mind. "It isn't much, but my friends insisted you be brought here. The fresh air and the sunlight will help hasten your recovery."

'_Chorus Plains… I'm not too far from the City of Forte. Great, things are starting to look up._' Fugue suppressed a grin at the thought. '_After I get out of this hell-hole, I'll slaughter these idiots and report back to the Count. The Count…? Waltz—how long have I been asleep?_'

"How long has it been..?" Fugue asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice.

Even though the question was asked vaguely Frederic knew what the man had meant. Lacing his fingers together, Frederic looked down at his lap and was silent for a few seconds, counting the days and adding the weeks since the final battle, in his head.

Finally Frederic looked at Fugue with a sympathetic expression and replied, "It has been nearly a month and three days since Count Waltz's defeat and five days since I found you in the forests outside of Tenuto."

A wave of surprise engulfed Fugue, but he could not bring himself to express it. Instead, he chose to turn his head away from the musician with composed silence and stare at the wooden wall. Internally he felt the shock turn to anger, which turned to disappointment, therein melting into numbness. The very idea that Count Waltz was defeated by a bunch of no-name country bumpkins was ludicrous. Fugue had spent nearly his whole adolescent and adult life serving Waltz's family, and to his knowledge, Waltz excelled in military training and tactics; he had power, status, money, and had every bit of charisma that could be used to manipulate the most stubborn of fools. To acknowledge Waltz's defeat was too much like defeat for himself. After serving eleven long years alongside the Count's family, having been convinced that they would revolutionize the world, Fugue did not want to admit that he had been on the losing side after all this time.

"You must be hungry…" Frederic said, attempting to change the sudden mood that seemed to have veiled the room.

Fugue said nothing, still facing the wall.

'_Honestly…_' Frederic suppressed the urge to sigh and slowly lifted himself off his chair to lean forward towards the bed.

Fugue was startled when he felt the weight of the bed shift and the shadow of a body tower over him; he jerked his head to face his intruder ready to spit daggers at the man who was invading his personal space, but was instead, greeted by the vision of midnight purples and white.

Frederic was leaning over Fugue to prop up extra pillows underneath his shoulder and head, hoping to put the swordsman in a partial-sitting position. Fugue felt long fingers twist into his hair, bringing his head forward and supporting it with gentle firmness to complete the musician's task with more ease. Fugue had the odd sensation that these movements performed by the older man had been done many times before when he was unconscious. Still, now that Fugue was awake and was aware of his surroundings, he didn't care about trivial things like that; this man was invading his personal bubble, touching him even! Damn him, if only Fugue could just use his arms and hands a little--

There! He felt it. There was a bit of pain and some numbness, but a majority of it came from his upper torso; his arms felt strained, but it wasn't unusable: this much pain was nothing. Besides, as a swordsman, all he really needed was his arms anyways. Now, he just needed to wait until he had the perfect chance.

Removing himself from the silver-haired man and settling back into his chair, Frederic took up the cooling bowl of mushroom soup and placed it carefully in his lap.

"The mushroom soup is cooling considerably fast, so we'll be starting with it first." Frederic explained, scooping some soup in a spoon and holding it closely to Fugue's face, an expectant look in his eyes.

Fugue scowled at the baby-like treatment he was receiving from the dark haired man and his eyes narrowed dangerously at Frederic. From Fugue's peripheral vision, he eyed the salad.

"How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"

At this, Frederic actually smiled and took the spoon that he held out in front of Fugue and brought it to his own lips, drinking the cooling soup with a peculiar charming movement of etiquette. Wordlessly, the pianist dipped the spoon back into the soup and held it out in front of Fugue again, this time his eyes shone with amusement.

As much as Fugue found the sight of Frederic drinking the creamy broth strangely alluring, he could have strangled the thirty-nine year old man and his calm-attitude then and there, but he decided to do so after he got some food in his stomach. He wouldn't admit to it, but he was really hungry. Cautiously, Fugue opened his mouth; his eyebrows furrowed in slight annoyance at his own physical needs and consumed the soup that was fed to him.

Damn, that was some _good_ soup.

Frederic smiled happily, scooping more soup for the wounded man, aware of the way Fugue's eyes lit up every time the creamy broth was deposited into his mouth. There was a comfortable silence that fell upon the two as Frederic would sometimes rip pieces of bread for Fugue to eat with his soup. And after the last drop was consumed by Fugue, Frederic moved to replace the empty bowl with the salad, holding the fork with a light grip.

"I apologize," Frederic said suddenly, finally breaking the silence and holding the fork towards Fugue with a piece of lettuce attached, "We've come across each other many times before, but to only introduce myself now—how truly rude of me. My name is Frederic Francois Chopin; may I ask what yours might be?"

Fugue could have gawked at the man's mannerism, but he was too busy trying to contain the wicked smirk that was making its way to his lips.

"My name?" Fugue asked, his voice lowering dangerously, so much that Frederic, who had dropped his guard during the last minutes of feeding, barely had time to register what was happening next.

With shocking swiftness that could not have been possible for a heavily injured person, Fugue had forced his arms up from under the heavy bed covers to latch onto Frederic's outstretched limb, effectively pulling the fork from Frederic's softened grip. While still holding onto Frederic's wrist, Fugue tugged the pianist from his seat; the bowl of salad clattering loudly to the wooden ground as Frederic was pulled on top of the bed with Fugue's weight pressed onto his chest, successfully pinning the musician down.

Fugue pressed the silver fork to Frederic's neck, and whispered seductively into Frederic's ear, his hot breath making Frederic shiver unpleasantly.

"My name is Fugue."

Their positions were uncomfortable for both, and Fugue was sure he had reopened his wound. But upon trapping Frederic's delicate body underneath his own, Fugue had to confess, the older man was certainly a stunning specimen to look at up close—he was no less far away either—and the more the swordsman eyed the details of Frederic's features, the more Fugue wanted to touch him; watch him writhe in distress and quite possibly, pleasure.

For Fugue, he believed that the limit of beauty was in the eye of the beholder: it mattered not whether it was a man or a woman, and as far as he was concerned, beauty was something that should never go unappreciated. Fugue was always surrounded by ugly things and things he deemed unworthy, it was rare to for him to come across anything that caught his eye. And if that something caught his eye, he would make sure he had it in his grasp.

Frederic on the other hand, was holding very still, a blank expression on his face. He could feel the blood from Fugue's reopened wound seep past the bandages and onto his own clothes. Frederic dared not move else he worsened the damage on the other man. He prayed that the swordsman would pass out from blood loss soon; else his efforts in the past few days would have been for nothing...

Something whizzed past Fugue's head, cutting off a few silver strands on its way by. The motion was so quick that both occupants on the bed almost didn't register the movement until a sharp sound of metal splitting wood was heard right in front of Fugue. It was like a mini explosion, there were wood splinters scattered all over the bed and Frederic had to squeeze his eyes shut from the impact.

"I'm not going to miss a second time."

Fugue had the decency to tear his eyes away from Frederic and look up at the arrow that was lodged into the wall three inches deep, but he dared not look behind him: if a person could do _that_ much damage to a wooden wall, imagine what it could do if it pierced flesh.

Upon hearing Viola's voice, Frederic opened his eyes and stared down, over his chest to the open doorway where Viola stood with another arrow aimed at Fugue's head. There was anger burning behind those cherry brown eyes, and Frederic took a few seconds to share his sympathy with Fugue, having been on the receiving end of those arrows once before.

"Viola…" Frederic breathed hesitantly.

"Step away from him and maybe I'll reconsider lodging my arrow into your skull." Viola stated firmly, tightening her grip on the arrow.

Fugue could have smiled at the threat, and he was sure he did, but the woman's voice faded out half way. His head swayed, but he held his position as his voice was finally making itself known to the other two people in the room.

"Hmn, I don't know. I kind of like this position I'm in."

Viola almost growled.

"Dying on top of a beauty like him… Damn, it's worth it even if I'm going to hell..." Fugue's head drooped and his limbs shook as his half-lidded eyes watched the panic spread across Frederic's pretty face.

Fugue's grip on the fork diminished to nothing and it slid from his hand and onto the bed beside Frederic's neck.

"Aww, no- Don't look like that…" said Fugue, his speech slurring as he took the back of his hand that had dropped the fork to brush against Frederic's cheek tenderly, his head flopping dangerously low. "…I……do-………'tis sorry..."

Fugue's arms finally collapsed underneath him, and as he fell unconscious into the warm body below him, Viola's arrow whizzed past his head and split the arrow before it.

_She missed._

-----

_"Let's get going, Fugue."_

_"Who are you talking to you stupid old fart?"_

_"Whoever answered, you idiotic brat."_

_"…"_

_"……"_

_"Come on now, I don't have all day."_

-----

Fugue groaned.

Oh for EZI's sake, one day he's going to blow up that damn sun; not just the sunlight, but it made everything too damn hot…

"Serves you right," a woman's voice interjected Fugue's groans of annoyance.

Upon hearing Viola's voice, Fugue paused and took a few moments to collect his drowsy thoughts. It was difficult to think with all this heat. His throat felt parched and the swordsman opted out for saving his saliva and cracked an eyelid open to stare at the woman leaning coolly in her chair.

"With the way you are right now, it's impossible to move. That last stunt you pulled could have killed you, and I would have let you die if piano-boy didn't want to save you so badly." Viola huffed in agitation.

Fugue had to smirk at this. He swallowed and forced his voice to work.

"You…… wouldn't have the… guts to let me die anyways."

Viola quirked an eyebrow at Fugue's taunt and let out a laugh. Deep down, Viola knew that what Fugue said was right. She couldn't just let someone die. Things were supposed to be better now…

"Geez, watching you say that with your face all red while you're on the verge of death --Priceless!"

Fugue growled, but ended up coughing painfully instead.

Viola's laughter died down to a smile as she picked up a bottle from the bedside along with a cup of water.

"Come on. Gotta have you take your meds, else Frederic might scold me." She said, her voice taking on a playful, carefree tone.

Fugue didn't understand it. First, she was mad enough to shoot arrows at him, and the next, she's smiling rainbows and those god-awful sunshine's. But within the next few seconds, Fugue understood why.

Without as much as a pause Viola yanked Fugue's jaw down and shoved a tablespoon of purple medicine into his mouth. While Fugue was still coughing violently at the disgusting taste, she gripped his chin in her hand and poured the glass of water down his throat.

Damn that woman. She was still angry.

"You're… a monster." Fugue managed to choke out, regaining his breath. It was even painful to breathe; his chest ached more than before and Fugue winced.

Viola snorted, "No, I'm just awesome. Now go to sleep. When your fever breaks, I'll get you something to eat."

Fugue huffed internally,_ 'A fever, no wonder everything felt like it was on fire.'_

The silver-haired man hadn't notice the basin of water beside his bed until Viola turned around to retrieve a wet cloth from it and place it gently on his forehead. The comfortable coolness from the cloth flashed a fleeting vision of the pianist in his mind, reminding Fugue of the way Frederic's long fingers had entwined in his silver locks.

Fugue's skin tingled from the memory.

"Where's…" Fugue gave a few coughs, "-Where is he anyways?"

Viola briefly glanced at Fugue, her face contorting into one of mild disbelief, but she quickly regained herself and was slightly reluctant to give away the answer when she realized that Fugue honestly didn't know where the musician was. She sighed after studying his pitiful blood-drained face, saying nothing as she removed her chair from his side. It was next to impossible not to have noticed a bed there before, but Fugue had proven that possibility, and he could have face-palmed himself for being so stupid.

Frederic was resting in the bed next to Fugue's, and the sleeping man looked terribly drained.

Whether Fugue wanted an explanation or not, Viola didn't care, her mouth had started moving before she even processed her words.

"After you collapsed, he didn't even move away from you. He just starts changing your bandages, as if it was the most ordinary task in the world." Viola said, eyes glossing over as if she was watching the scene unfold before her. "But you were bleeding so much that even from where I was standing I could see that his hands were shaking. And from what I can recall—since he sent me to grab a doctor in Agogo Village and I wasn't there for the whole thing—he used as much magic as possible to keep you alive. It's been two days since then and he still hasn't woken up."

Viola looked down at Frederic affectionately and squeezed a hand on top of Frederic's bed covers. Arco appeared from Viola's shoulder and jumped onto the bed, whining unhappily at the sleeping man.

"Magic… He's not going to die, is he?"

Viola sat down in her seat, her body restless.

"No, those symptoms are long gone for people who had taken mineral powder. Frederic has never come into contact with that stuff; he just always had the ability to use magic. We still don't know why, but he's never shown any pain or illnesses that are directly related to his magical abilities. I doubt he'll die from having them though." Viola gave a reassuring smile at Fugue. '_Even though he said he's dead in another world or whatever…_'

Fugue frowned. To think, that someone would do so much for someone like him: _he_, Waltz's now ex-henchman, and an enemy who didn't care whether the world was turned into mindless soldiers bent on destroying themselves. Only one other person had actually treated him like a human being, but that was a long time ago, and Fugue wasn't even sure that man was alive anymore. And now, Fugue had brought harm to the only other person that saved his life time and time again.

Fugue suddenly felt a great wave of guilt wash over him, but with the fever, the swordsman mistook it for the medicine's drowsy effect. Fugue closed his eyes, successfully ignoring the natural sunlight that filtered through the room.

Viola heaved a sigh and picked up Arco who ran up her leg and sat on top of her lap.

"Yeah, just rest now."

-----

The next time Fugue woke up, he was greeted by the moonlight. The room was no longer hot on his skin and he figured that his fever broke when he was asleep.

Fugue smiled in comfort; he was never really good with the sun. During his time serving Waltz, Fugue had always worked at night. He learned to embrace the nocturne that the moon and stars never failed to deliver. So whenever he had accepted missions that involved him running around in broad daylight, Fugue would always be grouchy. Hence, constantly picking fights with travelers.

When Fugue's eyes had finally adjusted to the dark, he noticed the blond woman asleep in her chair with a blanket draped over her shoulders. What startled Fugue, when he eyed the blond, was that the she was clutching her bow even in her sleep. It was almost unnerving, especially because the woman did not bother to pull her arrows from the wall just left of Fugue's bed, probably to remind the silver-haired man of the consequences he could face while in her presence. But Fugue could relate to the whole weapon clutching thing: he did it as well.

From the corner of his eye, Fugue caught sight of movement. There was some rustling of cloths and Fugue turned his head to the source of the noise, finally taking notice of the man who had been sitting up in his bed after all this time.

The moonlight cast an eerie glow over the pale complexion of the sitting man, but rather than making the image seemingly creepy, the effect was truly breathtaking. Frederic was looking away from Fugue, his head turned up at the open window just above the door-less entrance, watching the moon quietly. It was as if he was waiting for an angel to descend and take him away to join them. And just when Fugue thought he could keep watching the pleasant image, Frederic turned his head to face the peeping swordsman, addressing him gently.

"You're awake."

"As are you," Fugue replied, without missing a beat.

"How do you feel?" Frederic attempted, his voice displaying his fatigue.

Fugue grunted, "I could ask you the same thing."

Frederic chuckled softly and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall.

"Just tired…" Frederic brushed off, "Have you ea-"

"-Why did you save me," Fugue asked, his voice firmly cutting Frederic off. "You must know already that I have nothing to fight for."

Ever since Viola's short spew about what Frederic had done for him, the question had been driving the silver-haired man insane. Fugue needed to know whether it was for pity or foolish reasons that he was allowed to survive this long. The actions of his enemies confused him and gave him the little bit of hope that Fugue was sure he destroyed years ago.

When Frederic gave no answer, Fugue pressed on.

"Count Waltz is dead, even if I return to the City of Forte; I will be kicked out from my position as a royal guard and be labeled as a war-criminal. I have no relatives to return to, I have no stable home to call my own. I've been taught nothing but how to wield a blade. What part of me is so good that you're so insistent on saving? Don't you people realize that by allowing me to survive, all you're doing is pushing me into a life of misery?"

Although Fugue's tone was soft, as to not awake Viola from her sleep, it was forceful and desperate, causing Frederic to frown at the sadness behind his words.

"You're a proud man and I honor that by telling you now that I did not save you out of pity." Frederic began, "It would've been easy to let you die—to leave you in that forest—but I am no god of death, I cannot merely take a life or give one as I please. So by coming across your wounded body, it was by mere chance that you were still breathing. --You, alive: it was _you_ who did not let yourself die, if anything, rather than thinking I saved your life, you saved your own. I merely took responsibility of my actions when I found you. As for how you spend your life from now on, is also up to you to decide."

"And if I was dead?" Fugue asked, looking up at the dark ceiling.

Frederic looked at his hands, rubbing lightly at his fingers and replied, "…Had you been dead before my discovery, there was nothing more I could do besides bury your body and hope that your soul would rest peacefully."

Fugue huffed, a tad annoyed.

"Well then, you're an idiot."

"And why's that?" Frederic asked, a curious smile playing on his lips.

Fugue smirked and answered, "There's no way my soul would have rested in peace after knowing you were the one who buried my body. I would've come back to haunt you until the end of your life."

Frederic laughed lightheartedly at this, catching himself and quieting his laughter, hoping he did not wake up Viola. He looked up and checked that his friend was still asleep.

--Viola was snoring lightly.

"Then your company would have been warmly welcomed." Frederic responded, smiling serenely at the silly thought.

Fugue's breath caught in his throat, once again caught off guard by Frederic's angelic expression. This time, however, Fugue did not hold back a smile of his own. Frederic's reasons—though complex and a tad difficult to understand—were well versed, masterfully calming the confusion that had been plaguing Fugue's mind. What the older man had meant, Fugue had understood through the carefully crafted phrases: Fugue did not die, only because he forced himself to live.

This answer may appear far too simple with too many errors for those who questioned life, especially concerning the many lives that are claimed each day even though they had the will to live on; but that was exactly where Frederic came in to play in all of this. Whether the musician would agree or not, Fugue believed that Frederic had wanted him to live just as much as himself. And it was with Frederic's support that Fugue was still able to wake up to the blinding sunlit mornings, and the sparking moonlit nights.

"Assuming that you will not be attacking me with utensils anymore, since I cannot heal arrow wounds to the head…" Frederic teased, "May I ask what you'll be doing after you've recovered?"

Fugue contemplated this question for a few seconds before answering, "Well, since I'm a wanted war-criminal in Forte and Baroque, and your group is, I suppose, heroes of my current predicament, I'm not too sure myself. With Waltz out of the way, there's no reason for me to capture your friend, or do away with you bunch, let alone continue to stay here in this country."

"Then, you will be leaving this country?" Frederic asked, a sad nostalgic tone hidden within his voice.

"Most likely… Forte was never my homeland to begin with, so I won't feel anything even if I were to leave it all behind." Fugue closed his eyes. He was getting tired again, and his wound had started to ache adding to his fatigue.

"I see…" Frederic's voice had dropped to a whisper and Fugue had to strain his ear to catch it. Frederic was vaguely reminded of his own exile—chosen at his own freewill—back home… where his _true_ body lay buried with the cold, wet soil. Unlike Fugue, however, Frederic never wanted to leave Warsaw in the first place.

In Fugue's mind he could picture Frederic's depressed face and his heart twisted painfully.

There were a few minutes of silence, and Frederic was almost convinced that the younger man had fallen asleep, but Fugue's soft, incoherent mumbling startled Frederic.

"…Leaf…Y-you…….. One… regret."

Frederic turned to look at Fugue, tilting his head ever so slightly.

"Excuse me?"

Fugue slowly opened his eyes, forcing himself to face Frederic and cleared his throat, his face burning; internally glad that the room was still too dark to make out the rose red stain that had emerged on his cheeks.

"I-I said: when I leave you'll be my… my one regret…"

If Frederic wasn't looking at Fugue, the statement would have appeared normal, but unfortunately for Frederic, he did not miss the gaze the silver-haired man gave him when he said those words. The glimmer in his deep blue eyes was unmistakable.

It was a look of genuine passion.

Frederic's reaction was, to say the least, amazingly adorable, and Fugue smirked victoriously as he watched the pianist's fluster hopelessly: A brilliant hue of red displayed itself on Frederic's pale visage and his eyes darted downwards, taking extreme interest in the bed covers. His hands twisted his fingers together in an odd motion of nervousness, and Frederic's lips were pressed into a tight line.

"Umm, yes… A-as will I. Well, then- goodnight!" Abruptly ending any further conversations, Frederic quickly slipped into his bed covers with his back facing Fugue.

Fugue grinned, closing his eyes once again, ready to settle back into a deep sleep.

He was glad he was alive.

-----

During Fugue's recovery, Salsa and March would sometimes visit Viola's cottage. At first, the two guardians had kept there distance from their ex-enemy, especially the fiery redhead.

After hearing about Fugue's attack on Frederic, Salsa would throw insults and taunts at the bed-ridden man from halfway across the room. Fugue's patience had allowed him to survive only one hour in the girl's presence when he nearly jumped out of bed to chase after her; almost reopening his wound again. Frederic—fully recovered after another two day's rest—had jumped in and held the man down. And Viola, who, once again, ended up shooting another deadly arrow, missed Fugue's head by a centimeter, only to have it splitting the second and first arrows that had been lodged into the wall previously.

Fugue was now convinced that the blond was missing on purpose, but he wouldn't doubt for a second that if his head was actually the poor splintered wall, he'd have been dead three times over.

After that, though Salsa had not stopped her merciless taunting, Fugue learned to keep the young elf quiet by telling her stories about the missions he had taken during his time serving as a royal guard. Salsa, never being able to pass up an entertaining tale of adventure, had begun shortening the distance between her and the ex-enemy every time Fugue would stop his tales at a cliffhanger. By the time Fugue told over five stories, Salsa was seen sitting cross-legged on the bed, across from Fugue, hanging on to his every word.

March, on the other hand, had been helping Frederic with the feedings and the changing of bandages. Though weary of the man, she learned through silent observations that Fugue fancied Frederic--

A lot.

Fugue was not very subtle in his gestures of flirtation. In fact, his pining was outright public, and Frederic would ignore a majority of the comments the silver-haired man made about the musician's hair, eyes, face, fingers, body movement, etc… When March finally questioned Frederic about it, the thirty-nine year old had sighed tiredly and said:

"It's nothing… When you're older, March… When you're older..."

And he had left it at that. March wisely never brought the subject up again.

Viola, however, did not take Fugue's harassment of her favorite composer quite as well. Whenever she caught Fugue holding Frederic's hand longer than three seconds, she would ready her bow and take aim. Whenever the swordsman commented on a part of Frederic's body parts, Viola would throw a piece of Arco's favorite treat (ginger cookies) at the man and watch as Arco literally attacked him for it. After a couple of these events, Frederic had politely asked Viola to stop her attempts at bothering Fugue:

"I apologize, it must be stressful to have him here in your home, but he has promised that he will leave once his injuries are healed. I do not wish to have the healing process delayed anymore than necessary… Please, Viola…"

And Viola could not bring herself to argue with the older man. He had given her a heartbreaking expression and she ended up pulling her friend into a sisterly hug, startling a blushing Frederic and making Fugue, who was watching, jealous. For Frederic, she would endure.

So as the weeks flew by and Fugue was able to walk around a little, he often accompanied Frederic to pick mushrooms in Agogo Village while one of the twins supervised their activities. There were some days where Viola was asked to keep watch over Fugue while Frederic went to take care of some musical commissions, and Viola had taught Fugue how to herd and milk goats.

At first, Fugue was disgusted by the horned creatures that were always trying to eat his clothes, but after a few threats from Viola and shoving goat feed into his hands, Fugue learned that maybe goats weren't as bad as they looked… or smelled. Fugue had become fond of their laid back nature and had learned to enjoy the goats' company; often laying in the grass, staring up at the passing clouds as the goats chewed peacefully at the grass around him.

When a month and a half had finally passed, there was nothing left of Fugue's wound, besides a deep, long scar.

Tomorrow, Fugue will be setting off on a cargo ship and leaving the country of Forte.

-----

"Good morning." Frederic greeted.

"You're up early." Viola said, sitting down at the kitchen table, watching Frederic move around the stove.

Frederic wasn't always a good cook, but it was with the help of Polka and Viola that he had learned to make many delicious meals throughout their journey. The composer had been cooking for her and Fugue since he began staying at the cottage, insisting that he cooked for them. He had told her that cooking was the least he could do for letting them stay. And yet, Viola knew Frederic had done more chores for her than she could possibly count.

"He'll need a nice full meal before he leaves. I'm sure that the cargo ship's meals are not as luxurious as the ones we had on Baroque's." Frederic answered, his hands busy tossing a few eggs into a pan.

"No, I wouldn't think so either…" Viola said, resting her head in her palm. "…Will you miss him?"

Pausing, Frederic hesitated for a few seconds before moving again and replying, "In all honesty, I can't say I won't, so yes... I will."

Viola smiled at her friend's response, closing her eyes and focusing on the smell and noise.

"Yeah, I hate to say it, but… me too."

"Where is he?" Frederic asked, scooping the eggs onto a plate.

"Outside. Feeding the goats. I swear, those goats love him! They won't even come to me when I call anymore." Viola said, opening her eyes and giving a betrayed expression.

Frederic chuckled, "Well, he seems to be the type animals and creatures like. After all, the Agogo Queen Mother took a liking to him as well."

"Ugh, don't remind me. If the idiot wasn't so embarrassed by it, he'd be bragging about it."

"And what would I be bragging about?"

Fugue had walked in, a smug smile on his lips, taking a seat across the table from Viola.

Frederic placed the plates of food in front of the two sitting occupants and replied, "About you being saved by the Agogo Queen Mother."

"About you being _eaten_ by the Agogo Queen Mother," Viola corrected.

Fugue almost groaned, but suppressed it and smiled charmingly at Frederic, who settled himself down beside Fugue.

"This breakfast looks delicious, thank you my dove."

Viola rolled her eyes.

Frederic shook his head, used to the comments by now, and withheld a small smile. "You're welcome, now please eat, you'll need the energy for your trip."

Fugue needed to make it to Ritardando by three o'clock that afternoon and it would take the swordsman a good five hours to reach the city. Fugue had spent the night before packing, but he did not have many possessions to take with him. All the man had were a few changes of clothes and some money that was forced onto him by a very insistent Frederic; he had lost his katana about the same time he lost his monocle, they were probably somewhere in Agogo Forest. Fugue had explained that it wasn't the loss of his katana that bothered him, but rather, the monocle. Apparently, the monocle was an important item of sentimental value given by his master who taught him how to use a sword. But he and Frederic had searched for the item many times before, unable to find anything.

"-Oh yes, that's right…" Viola began, suddenly realizing something as she chewed at her breakfast thoughtfully. "What are you going to do Frederic?"

Frederic looked up from his plate with a puzzled expression.

"About what, might I ask?"

"You know- About what you'll be doing after idiot here, leaves."

Fugue glared at Viola, but he kept quiet, eating his food and concentrating on the conversation.

Frederic, also used to the nicknames Viola has given people around her, responded normally, "Ah yes… Well, I'm not too sure myself. I will most likely try to find a place of my own to stay."

"Why don't you just stay here with me? You know I've got the space, and you've been a great help around here." Viola offered, taking a bite out of a slice of jammed-covered bread.

"It is kind of you to offer Viola, but I've been thinking about traveling around Forte and Baroque for a little while longer, before finding a home."

Surprisingly, this time, Viola did not try to convince Frederic into taking up the offer and just shrugged replying in an understanding manner, "Well, suit your self. Just remember, you can always come back here whenever you'd like."

Finishing his eggs and moving onto his salad Fugue stated, "You certainly wouldn't seem like the type to move on from location to location."

"I wouldn't think so either," added Viola. "But he's been wandering around, taking small journeys, ever since our group parted ways." Viola looked at Frederic, who has paused in his eating; clear eyes matching Viola's knowing ones.

He knew what she was referring to, and Viola wished that Frederic would forgive himself already.

Fugue continued the conversation, oblivious to the emotions that flickered across table, "If you really did settle down though," Fugue put his fork in his half-eaten salad bowl and turned to Frederic, who by now, was directing his attention to Fugue. "Then I would hope that it will be with me, once I've returned."

There it was again. That look- the same look that Fugue gave him that moonlit night. Frederic tensed, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. The pianist could ignore almost every comment Fugue threw at him, but serious, heartfelt, and truthful statements like these ones—though extremely rare— took Frederic by surprise all the time. It was embarrassing, and yet it made Frederic strangely happy.

Viola huffed, slightly annoyed at the way Frederic was responding to Fugue's statement. The blond had to admit though; Fugue's serious tone and expression at that moment was really quite convincing, even for her.

"For goodness sakes… Could you stop with this already? You're going to have to leave in…" Viola glanced at a wooden clock hanging on a wall. "…In- Now." It was fifteen minutes before ten o'clock, if Fugue didn't leave soon, he'd have to run his way to Ritardando.

Frederic rose from his seat, his face still adorning a beautiful color of baby pink as he looked down at his barely-eaten breakfast. "I will see you off..." He said, almost reluctantly.

Fugue's lips twisted into a happy smile. During the past month and a half, Fugue had found himself falling in love the dark-haired man more and more. Everything the musician did was done in elegance. Fugue had seen many times before, how Frederic would go around helping others: offering to carry groceries for an old lady; helping a lost child find their way home; feeding abandoned kittens. Angels in heaven, if only he could take Frederic with him… --And Fugue had certainly tried to convince the musician many times before, but Frederic had always politely declined.

"Yes, that would be nice." Fugue replied, with a frightening amount of gentleness. So much that in the background, Fugue was vaguely aware of Viola giggling in mock horror.

-----

When the trio made it out to the front entrance of Viola's home, the sun was starting to settle high in the cloudless sky, casting a stunning shine on the flush vegetation. There was a gentle wind that tickled across the vast plains, and Fugue almost sighed. Silently, he took back what he said about not leaving anything behind (besides Frederic). Although Fugue was still not very fond of the daylight, he now understood its splendor; it radiated life, the very same life that Fugue was now able to breathe and experience. Fugue turned to the other two behind him; adjusting his make-shift bag on his shoulder awkwardly. He still had one last thing to do.

"I would like to have a few minutes with you." Fugue said, staring at Frederic, who was standing quite still.

When the two realized that he had directed the comment at the composer, Viola raised an eyebrow and took a few steps away from her friend.

"Privately," Fugue stressed, glancing at Viola, a smirk on his face.

Viola rolled her eyes and moved back farther. After all this time, Viola still carried her bow with her in Fugue's presence, it was probably more out habit than anything and Fugue learned to ignore the blonde's empty threats a long time ago. So even if he did something, like this:

Fugue stepped closer to Frederic and took both pale, delicate hands into his own--

Fugue didn't have to worry about his brain exploding from an arrow shot, but he was always aware of the way Viola's fingers twitched, wanting to reach for her bow. This time however, the blond just crossed her arms, and stood leaning her weight onto one leg, watching the scene quietly.

Much to Fugue's relief, Frederic did not pull his hands away and Fugue smiled to himself, feeling of the older man's hands in his own and rubbing his thumbs over Frederic's knuckles.

"I want to thank you," Fugue began softly, looking into Frederic's bright brown eyes. "--For everything. You are the second person in my life who saved me-" Frederic opened his mouth at this, ready to refuse this claim, but Fugue continued quickly, cutting Frederic off, "-from myself. The first was my master who taught me my swordsmanship. The old fart," Fugue laughed quietly, "If he's still alive that is, gave me a life to live, but had forgotten. And now, you made me remember." Fugue closed his eyes, relishing the cool feel of Frederic's fingers in his palm.

"Waltz's ambitions blinded me; gave me false hope that the world would be a better place in his ruling. Having been defeated by you and your friends," at this, Fugue's face twisted into a distasteful expression that had Frederic snickering despite the unhappy memory. "I suppose you could say that some sense was beaten into me. At first, I didn't understand why the bunch of you would go out of your way to try and save the world: time and time again, fighting your way to some sort of non-existent goal. I have never seen such stubbornness since my childhood… It was almost infuriating. If I had _that_ much hope in something, I would have been a fool." Fugue made a brief pause and squeezed Frederic's hands kindly. "But look at me now; I'm a fool in love." This time, Frederic's relaxed body went rigid and he attempted to pull his hands away from Fugue, but the silver-haired man held on desperately.

"If I could stay by your side, I would- I _will_." Fugue's calm determined voice stilled the nervous, blushing Frederic, who now looked at him curiously. "I promise you. I'll be back eventually… so I hope that you will wait for me. Please- _please_ wait for me." At this, Fugue gently pulled Frederic forward and brushed his lips against the stunned musician's right cheek.

But just as quickly as his lips made contact on Frederic's blushing skin, Fugue had jumped back swiftly, effectively dodging an arrow that had been targeting his head.

Apparently, holding hands was as far as Viola would allow Fugue to do, and the blond had quickly readied another arrow, shooting it at Fugue who, yet again, stumbled away just in time.

"YOU LITTLE--!!!" Oh yes, Viola was definitely upset, chasing after Fugue and relentlessly shooting arrows at the laughing man who had turned around and was running towards Chorus Plains: East Lake.

Frederic, who was standing a little dazed, touched his cheek, his eyes softening.

"I hope I will be able to wait for you as well…"

(~Fin.)

A/N: OMG, I finished it! ;_; This is the longest oneshot… -err, no, umm… Rather, this is the longest _piece_ I've ever written. _In my life._ I am claiming that this fic works as a prequel to another story that I'm writing (multi-chapter)—Har, har. I left a whole bunch of plot-holes in this fic for this very reason. : d—but also as a stand-alone since I can't write multi-chapter fics without wanting to kick myself every time a word is typed (and I'm also horribly lazy). Unfortunately for those of you who are FuguexFrederic fans, the non-existent (or currently non-existent) multi-chapter fic will be JazzxFrederic. Well, hopefully you've enjoyed my terrible attempt at writing an ES fanfic, and if you have any complaints and/or comments please feel free to spam the review box. I usually don't reply to them, but I read them all. : 3


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